


She's A Little Runaway

by Dragongoddess13



Series: 1200 Follower Milestone [11]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1200 follower milestone, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 07:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21133019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragongoddess13/pseuds/Dragongoddess13
Summary: I’m runaway royalty and you’re a commoner, fuck I’m so screwed I need your help, I’ll explain later





	She's A Little Runaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [canicanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/canicanor/gifts).

She’s A Little Runaway

xXx

Lord Beric barges into his forge early one morning. “Scouts spotted gold cloaks in the woods not far from here. Saddle up we’re going out to meet them.” Gendry merely nods, putting away his work and gathering what he needs for a trip into the thick wood of the Neck. It’s early, far too early for any of the young orphans to be out of bed, and even so, it’s best they sleep as much as they can. 

Since the onset of the war, seven years ago, sleep is hard to come by. Most of the orphans here at the inn are war orphans, their families lost to battle or marauders. Here at the inn, they are safe, so long as the Brotherhood can keep Gold Cloaks, Frey men, and bandits at bay. 

The death of King Robert brought about the rise of The Lannisters and like an evil wave, they spread their influence as far and wide as they could. The seat of the resistance was in the one place they knew their men would never survive, The North, and helmed by a man they would never openly admit to fearing, King Eddard Stark. Gendry had heard stories of the Northern King from Lord Beric, and despite his usual disdain for the high born nobles of Westeros, he had a decent amount of respect for the man who put his people before his pride. Beric told stories of his narrow escape from King’s Landing after King Robert’s murder, how he was able to escape with his oldest daughter, but his youngest was missing, pressumed dead. 

Arya Stark was an interesting woman from what Gendry could tell. A true highborn lady and yet she preferred the sword to a husband and a quiver to a crown. She had a direwolf companion that rumors said would only listen to her. She was fierce and loyal and quite adept at politics and figures even at nine; the last time anyone of note had seen her. She played with children of every class, and respected all people, mingling with lowborns and bastards alike. It was silly, but despite having never met her, Gendry found he was quite intrigued by the young woman. 

The Brotherhood nears the Gold Cloak camp, cautiously moving to surround the area. There’s a tiny trickle of smoke rising through the trees, the remnants of a campfire and Gendry knows in this weather, with blankets of snow and ice on the ground, the men would have to be crazy to let their fires die down so low. Anguy scouts ahead and when he returns he looks confused. 

“There’s someone in the clearing.” he tells them. “But all the Gold Cloaks are dead. From the wounds I saw, some are wolves, others are sword.” 

Beric looks around at his men and gives the word to move in. There are more of them than there were gold cloaks and if a pack of wolves really did cut down the Lannister men, they would have moved on by now. 

The scene is exactly as Anguy described. Bodies lay strewn across the frozen ground. Some have their throats ripped out, the others cut. From the positions of the bodies, it appears they didn’t stand a chance. At the center of the clearing stands a cloaked figure. The cloak is as white as the snow around it, grey fur trimmed along the edges. The hood is pulled up, blocking their sight of the intruder. 

Beric steps forward. “This land is protected by The Brotherhood, reveal yourself or be considered a threat.” he calls out to figure. They all stand ready, weapons drawn. When they didn’t move, Beric tried again. “In the name of The King in The North, reveal yourself.” 

That seems to grab their attention and they watch as the figure turns, their face obscured by their hood. 

“How can you be The Brotherhood Without Banners and pledge your allegiance to the North?” the voice is decidedly female and they watch in awe as the hood is finally removed, a young woman no more than six and ten standing before them. She’s small, her long brown hair pulled back in a braid. Beneath her cloak is a dress of leather over laid with chainmail and at her hip a long fencing sword. Her eyes are a steely grey and even from this distance, Gendry can see how dangerous she is. 

Beric doesn’t seem afraid of her and Gendry thinks that may be a mistake. The lord takes a step forward, then another. “Lady Arya?” he breathes.

“Lord Beric.” she replies. 

“How…” Gendry has never seen Beric at a loss for words, but he supposes if he were faced with his friends assumedly dead daughter, he too would have trouble articulating. Before Arya can reply, a massive grey and white direwolf emerges from the trees behind her and settles at her side, watching them with caution. 

“Beric.” Thoros steps up, drawing their attention. “Perhaps we ought to continue this conversation at the inn.” he suggests. Beric agrees readily and turns his attention to Arya once again. He asks her to join them and she nods, turning to gather a pack that had been sitting on the ground. With it, a bow and quiver all expertly crafted. The wolf follows dutifully.

By the time they return to the inn, the orphans are up and running around in the snow. He watches Arya’s face light up at the sight, the sounds of laughter filtering toward them as they approach. They’re intrigued by their new guest, and the young girls take to her rather well. 

In the Inn, they listen closely to her story. How in the moment before anyone realized her father had a plan to escape his execution, Yoren had spirited her away, paying a crew to grant her safe passage North on their ship. Their captain was killed by an assassin, who took her back to Braavos with him, where she studied combat among other things in the House of Black and White. She’d only just returned to Westeros a moon’s turn before, reuniting with her Direwolf Nymeria and setting out to return to Winterfell. 

“The dead are marching south and I intend to help my family defend the North from the Night King.” she tells them. They have heard plenty of stories of the undead army beyond the wall, but until that moment, Gendry was of the mind that it was merely fairy tale. Arya is so sure though, that he can’t shake the feeling that she’s right. Beric seems to agree and with agreement from the rest of the Brotherhood, they decide to join her in her journey North. 

“We’ll gather supplies and leave in two days time.” Beric tells them and they go their separate ways to attend their duties until supper. He’s in the forge repairing armor when she enters. 

“Gendry, correct?” 

“Aye, milady.” 

“Don’t call me that.” she tells him. Perhaps he should be more cautious of the young woman, the steel in her eyes the bite of teeth, but she’s so small compared to him and while there’s little doubt she could cut him down without effort, he can’t help but tease. 

“As milady commands.” 

She glowers at him, but takes a deep breath and lets it go. “Anguy said you were working on arrows.” 

“Aye, the heads are finished, the shafts cut and the fletching mounted, just have to mount the heads.” he tells her. “Which I’ll work on once I finish repairing Dayne’s armor.” 

Arya looks into the barrel of arrowheads and hums. “Quite a bit to do, do you require a hand?” 

“If milady sees fit.” he replies. 

She scowls at him. “You’re pushing your luck black smith.” 

“Perhaps, but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge.” he smirks. 

Arya rolls her eyes. “Whose challenging you, stupid?” 

He grins but doesn’t answer, going back to his work. He hears her huff before finally moving toward one of the benches. They work in silence as Gendry finishes Ned Dayne’s armor and sets it aside. Once that’s finished he stokes the fires in the forge to keep the smithy warm and moves to the bench Arya is working at. They work side by side assembling arrows. 

“So, how did you come to be in the company of the Brotherhood?” she asks after a time. 

“They found me on the King’s Road. I was running from the Gold Cloaks and Lord Beric stepped in to help. They brought me back here to work in the smithy to repay them for coming to my aid and when I’d paid the debt I decided to stay.” 

“Why would the Lannister’s men be after you? Did you do something?”

He shrugs. “No idea. One minute I’m apprenticing at the Mott Smithy in King’s Landing, the next Master Mott is telling me to pack my things and run.” 

“That’s…” 

Arya doesn’t get the chance to finish, Anguy barging into the smithy with Ned Dayne close behind and all of her gear in his arms. “You need to leave Milady.” Anguy tells her. 

“What? Why?” she asks, standing from her seat at the workbench. 

“There’s a platoon of Gold Cloaks heading this way. If they find you they’ll use you against your father.” he tells her as Ned rushed passed, grabbing his finished armor. Arya scrambles to grab a few of the finished arrows and takes her bow and quiver from Anguy. Anguy turns to Gendry while she works to put everything on. “Lord Beric wants you to go with her.” he tells him. “Watch her back. As soon as the Gold Cloaks are dealt with we’ll meet up with you two.” 

Gendry readily agrees, grabbing his war hammer and packing a bag from his meager possessions in his bunk. 

Two days later they’ve managed to secure horses and Arya is putting forth quite a bit of effort not to laugh at Gendry. He’s struggling to get comfortable in the saddle, his mount veering off course every once and a while. 

“Don’t do much riding with the brotherhood?” she calls back to him. 

“I do not.” he grunts trying to focus on staying atop his horse. “Tell me milady, how far do you think we are from Winterfell?” 

“Don’t call me that, and so long as we keep a steady pace, two weeks, perhaps less.” 

“Yes, well, I doubt we’ll be keeping a steady pace with  _ this  _ stead aiding us.” 

Arya laughs. “I assure you, Gendry, it’s not the stead that’s the problem.” she peeks back to find him scowling at her. With a grin she faces forward again. “But you’re probably right either way. We’ll sell him at the next village and share this one.” 

The next village is a two day journey on horseback. They arrive late afternoon and decide to spend the night. They sell Gendry’s horse and use a few coins from the sale to get a room, putting the rest away for later. 

“You don’t have a problem with sharing, do you?” Arya asks that evening as they prepare for bed. Gendry has slipped off his shirt and trousers, left only in his small clothes. Arya is behind the partition in the corner, stripping down to her slip. 

“Not so long as you don’t.” he tells her. 

“Good.” she replies, stepping out from behind the partition. “We have a long way to go and it would be ridiculous for one of us to be exhausted because we had to sleep on the floor. 

“Agreed.” 

Arya smiles sweetly at him and climbs into bed facing the wall. Gendry follows suit. The bed is a bit small, so Gendry moves up close behind her to avoid falling off. By morning their entwined with each other and Gendry can’t seem to find it in himself to care. He should, he’s nothing but a lowborn bastard and she a highborn lady, a princess of the North. Gendry, however, is beyond tired of the class system of Westeros and despite knowing she is forbidden to him, he finds himself enjoying her presence with little innocence in mind. If the appreciative looks she gives him when his shirt is off is any indication, she feels the same. 

They luck out and few days later find another inn. It’s here that Gendry sees first hand the toll the war has had on her. He’s startled awake as Arya screams, bolting up right. Without thinking he’s there, an arm around her, pulling her against him. She thrashes against him for a moment, before realizing he’s not a threat and relaxing into him. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” she tells him as they lay back down. 

“It’s alright. Are you alright?” he asks. He’s still got his arms around her, her head resting against his shoulder as they lay together. 

“Just another nightmare.” she tells him. 

“You have those often?” 

She nods. “It’s been… an interesting few years.” 

“I can imagine. Lord Beric has told stories about you.” he says. 

“Really? Like what?” 

“Just about what you were like as a little girl.” he can see the faint outline of her smile in the moonlight streaming through the window. 

“I remember when I was little I used to dream about running away. Of living with the small folk and being free. Maybe be an outlaw like Wenda the White Fawn.” 

“Were you not free in your castle in the North?” he asks. It’s a bit harsh, but he can’t imagine any lord or lady can suffer like the smallfolk do.

“Not when my mother intended to marry me off to be a broodmare for some fat ugly lord. I know it seems trite. I’ve lived among the small folk for years, I know what they go through, but there’s little I wouldn’t do to remain among them if it meant I could make my own choices.” 

“I suppose I never considered that.” 

“Why would you. You had your own life to worry about. You can’t be expected to care about the highborns who don’t care about you.” Gendry can’t help but notice how bitter she sounds. “As far as highborn men are concerned, highborn ladies are only bargaining chips for political and monetary gain.” she turns to face him. “You know my grandfather intended to marry my aunt Lyanna off to King Robert. My father told me he’d fuck anything with a pulse and even so much as told my aunt that after they were married he would continue to have his affairs. She hated him, ran away to for real love and ended up dead for it. There’s no happy ending for highborn ladies, not unless you get very lucky.” 

“I thought your aunt was kidnapped by a Targaryen?” he asks confused. The whole of Westeros knew the story of Lyanna Stark. How her kidnapping spurred King Robert into action. 

“That’s just what my family lets everyone believe. We couldn’t let King Robert know that she and Rheagar ran away willingly and were legally married in Dorne. She loved him, he treated her with respect and dignity and he loved that she would rather wield a sword than a sewing needle.”

“So, he didn’t kill her?” 

“No, she died in childbirth.” she explains. “My brother Jon. She made my father promise to protect him and the only way to keep Robert from killing him for his Targaryen blood was to convince everyone that he was my father’s bastard.”

“Well that’s certainly a nicer story for her than people believe. The ending is still bad, but at least she knew some happiness. I’ve met your father briefly.” he tells her. And she looks up at him surprised. “He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would let his daughter suffer that fate. No matter what happens next, I think you’ll be alright.” She simply hums in reply. A chill blows through the room and Arya shivers, moving closer to him. He wraps his arms around her, shielding her from the cold. “We should try to get back to sleep. We have a long way to go in the morning.” 

For the next several weeks, Arya and Gendry travel north on horseback. They can each admit to a fondness that blossoms between them. They share laughs, tease and spend the nights close together to stave off the cold, even when they manage to find an inn. A month after they set out on the road, Winterfell rises up on the horizon. 

“Not a bad place to grow up if you can stand the cold.” Gendry says as they near the castle gates. Arya spots a guard in a turret above the gate watching them. Then all of a sudden he turns and runs out of sight. “Should we be concerned?” Gendry asks, having noticed the guard as well. 

“I guess we’ll find out.” she replies, noticing the small group o f soldiers that have gathered at their approach. As they stop among the collection of guards, Arya notices one of them is the Captain of the guard and he’s looking up at her in awe. 

“The old gods have answered our prayers, milady.” he tells her, and she’s pretty certain she saw tears in his eyes. “The Brotherhood arrived two days ago, they braved a shortcut through the thicker part of the Neck. Everyone is waiting for you.” he tells her, stepping aside to let her pass. 

“Thank you, captain.” 

In the courtyard of the keep a crowd has gathered, smiling faces on every man, woman and child. And on the balcony above the courtyard, her mother and father and siblings. “Looks like the North missed it’s Princess.” Gendry tells her as they stop among the crowd. She smiles, accepting his hand to help her dismount. 

Her family is there in an instant, there are tears and hugs and so many smiles and Gendry stands back, watching as she smiles along with them. And then Eddard Stark is standing before him, and maybe Gendry isn’t experienced enough to recognize the emotion, but he thinks Ned actually looks happy to see him. 

“Gendry, welcome to Winterfell. I’m glad to see you escaped King’s Landing.” he greets him, offering his hand. 

Gendry accepts it. “Milord. I did, though I'm still not entirely sure why I needed to.”

Ned pats him on the shoulder. “All in good time, my boy, let’s get you settled and I’ll explain everything.” 

xXx

Arya finds Gendry in the smithy. It’s empty, the rest of Winterfell in the mead hall, celebrating her return. Gendry wasn’t there though, in fact, she hadn’t seen him since her father insisted on speaking with him. She hadn’t thought much of it, she assumed he was just thanking him for watching her back, but when she didn’t see him again, she grew concerned. 

“Gendry?” she calls out. She catches sight of him sitting at one of the benches. He’s hunched over, staring blankly at the fire in the furnace. “Gendry?” she tries again, moving to stand beside him. Slowly he turns to look at her. “Are you alright? You weren’t at supper.” 

“No, no I’m not alright.” he tells her. 

“You don’t look alright.” she replies, lowering into the space beside him. 

“Gee, thanks.” 

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean, stupid.” 

His lips quirk up a bit at the insult and she relaxes. 

“What did my father want to speak with you about?” 

Gendry shrugs. “I don’t know. He was about to tell me when one of his advisors showed up and he had to leave. He promised we would speak soon, but in the meantime, I’m left to wonder what the hell could be so important.” 

“I don’t know.” she tells him honestly. “But I know my father and he wouldn’t have left you for any reason if what he had to say was bad.” 

“You think so?” he looks hopeful. 

“I do.” 

He seems to relax at her words and she leans into his side unconsciously, providing further comfort. 

The days pass. Arya trains, proving to her family that she is not the same little girl she was all those years ago. Gendry begins work on forging dragon glass weapons, the materials given to the North by Jon Snow’s aunt who has joined the fight against the undead. Eddard does not seek out Gendry in this time, and Gendry tries to remember what Arya told him. 

They themselves spend time together as though nothing has changed. She even asks him to build her a weapon of her own design for the fight. He agrees. He’s seen what she can do and he knows she has just as much right to be on the battlefield as any of the northman. 

The night before the battle is somber. The men and women of the North and their guests commiserate with one another. They don’t speak of what may happen after, because they know there might not be an after. 

Gendry finds Arya in a storage room beneath the castle. She’s practicing her archery, her face focused and he stands there watching her for the longest time. He has always believed she is beautiful, but seeing her now, he can not think anything different. She is grace, both deadly and beautiful. 

Eventually he steps out of the shadows, drawing her attention. “Is that for me?” she asks, gesturing to the double bladed staff he carries. He simply nods, handing it over. She inspects it with an experienced eye, twirling it between her hands and testing the balance. “It’s perfect.” she tells him, as she sets it aside with her bow and arrows. “May I ask you a personal question?” she continues. 

“I suppose.” he replies. 

“Have you ever… laid with a woman?” 

Whatever he expected her to ask him, that certain wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. His mouth opens to reply, but he flounders, stuttering in embarrassment. “Yes.” he finally forces out. 

“How many.” she pushes forward and for the first time since they’ve met, he wishes for their conversation to be over so he can escape. 

“I don’t remember.” he lies. 

“Yes you do.” she looks smug now. “One… Twenty?” she continues. 

“Three.” he answers without thinking. He watches her as she approaches him, standing toe to toe. 

“We may die tomorrow. I think I’d like to know what it’s like.” 

“Arya.” he breathes as she closed the distance between them. He knows this is wrong, but as his body reacts, pressing forward against her, he doesn’t find it in himself to care. He’s wanted her for some months now, and status be damned, if she were willing, and she is most certainly willing, he would have her. 

xXx

All Arya can hear is ringing in her ears, drowning out the Northmen as they spread her name throughout Winterfell. 

“Arya killed the Night King.” 

“Ned Stark’s little girl saved us all.” 

“Arya Underfoot saved the North.” 

She spots each member of her family that stayed out to fight. Jon with his aunt, Robb with a contingent of Northmen, Theon on the ground, injured while trying to protect Bran and Bran himself, in his chair, looking unphased as their father kneels before him to check him over. Several of her father’s bannermen tend to Theon and her father’s eyes turn to her when he’s certain Bran is alright. But she doesn’t pay him or anyone else any mind. There is only one person she cares to see at the moment. Only one person whom she can not stop thinking about. 

Her eyes scanned the crowd of soldiers, trying to pick out his face in the crowd. And then he emerges at the side of Ser Davos, the men parting to allow her father’s advisor to pass. She hears someone call her name, but as their eyes lock, she doesn’t care what anyone else has to say. She takes off across the courtyard, leaping into his waiting arms. 

“Thank the gods.” she mutters into his neck as he holds her tightly. She hears him chuckle. 

“The old and the new.” he says. 

They don’t care about the eyes that are watching them, they don’t care about anything but each other. If they have done something wrong, if they’ve stepped out of line, then they will continue to do so for each other and there isn’t anyone in the known world who can stop them. 


End file.
